


The Dorothy

by basaltgrrl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basaltgrrl/pseuds/basaltgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the third of awabubbles' lovely illustrations for Sam and Gene's guide to incredibly hot sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dorothy

_  
**Fic: The Dorothy, basaltgrrl, brown cortina, sam/gene**   
_   


Title: The Dorothy  
Author: Basaltgrrl  
Rating: brown cortina  
Pairing: Sam/Gene  
Word Count: 1068  
Summary: Inspired by the third of awabubbles' lovely illustrations for Sam and Gene's guide to incredibly hot sex.  
 

Sam realizes one day that he’s a bit cynical about love.

It’s Gene, oddly enough, who makes him aware of it.  They have had conversations in which people have been called names, in which boundaries have been laid out, and he could have sworn that Gene was the one who was supposed to be all world-weary and full of scorn for ordinary expressions of affection.

But now, day after day, he catches Gene’s eyes on him, and because of the things they’ve done and the heat and the escalation and the talking without words and the desperate, clinging need that he’s witnessed, he believes that their positions have changed.

He’s been in love before.  The first real one was when he was fifteen.  She was a year older, long hair, blue eyes, he thought he was lucky to have her.  He never did, though; she put him off, kept him hanging on and bringing her gifts.  When he saw her walking hand in hand with another guy it was like his life was over.  He brooded for a long time, then, months, until the Ramones jolted him out of it and he dared to live again.

There were others.  A string, if he could be so bold.  He seemed to be made for falling in love.  So he knows what the progression is.  He knows how all-consuming this can be.  He knows how easy it is to just forget about everything else, to ignore your friends, drop your hobbies, rearrange your schedule to maximize your time with this person who has become the center of your world.  So even though he’s feeling it, he’s living it—he’s also aware that there’s something that comes after it.

He looks at Gene, admires the curl of hair on his forehead and loves the way his breath smells in the morning, admits to himself that cigarette smoke has become a turn-on.  He knows that in two months, or four, or six, he might get snappish about the reek of tobacco.  He might start urging Gene to lose a little weight.

The thing is, he is starting to think that this is the first time Gene has ever felt like this.  There have been a few words.  Words like, “I’ve never felt like this before.”  Yeah, that’s the real giveaway.  And more than words, the way that Gene seems to take everything so bloody seriously.  When Sam is too busy or too tired to respond, too tired to show up at Gene’s door, Gene greets him at work the next morning with the most sour, disgusted look he can drum up.  Except Sam knows it’s not drummed up – it’s as real as can be.  How does he know?  He can just tell; he has become an expert on Gene bloody Hunt’s expressions, after all.

Gene’s a little bit of intense, he is.  When they make love (and Sam has started to think of it in those terms) Gene is all thrust and noise and huge, desperate lunges.  He fucks like he thinks he’s not going to get to do it again.

There’s this position.  They’ve been at this long enough that there are familiar positions.  This one Sam thinks of as “The Dorothy”, although he has never considered that name a compliment.  It is kind of special, reserved for times when they’re using Gene’s bed and have the space and the safety of knowing the bed isn’t going to collapse under them.

Gene strips Sam’s trousers off, then leaves Sam stretched out on the bed while he removes his own.  He unbuttons his shirt, but his eyes are burning into Sam the entire time, like he can’t bear to stop looking.  He’s breathing hard, too, although that might have more to do with his smoking habit… but no, he’s panting and he’s staring into Sam, and his cock is standing to attention.  Sam can see the bead of moisture at the head.  Gene is so fucking turned on by all the stripping and watching each other and anticipation.

Eventually he gives up on the shirt and just crawls onto the bed over Sam’s sprawled body and kisses Sam’s chest and belly, works down to his cock, briefly.  But Gene can’t take the time to suck cock for long.  He wants something.  Again with the staring, with the eye contact the entire time as he slicks up his fingers and slides one of them into Sam, watching for every twitch and movement.  Sam twitches and moves, partly to keep Gene happy and partly for himself, because it’s so good.  Two fingers.  Sam groans.

Three fingers, Gene twists and thrusts, his breath coming short and desperate.  Sam stares back at him through half-lidded eyes, groaning, and it’s not a put-on, Sam really wants him badly now.  Gene doesn’t make him wait—he lifts Sam’s hips and Sam helps by hooking his legs over Gene’s shoulders, and then Gene’s cock is breaching him and they’re both making this noise, like they’re the same entity, some strange creature staring at itself and moaning and writhing about.

And Gene is fucking Sam, holding Sam’s legs over his shoulders, and Sam is splayed out on the bed in the most wanton way possible, and he’s gasping stuff like “fuck me, fuck me, oh god, fuck me” and Gene is huffing and thrusting and staring the entire time and the look on his face is incandescent.  That look is what really convinces Sam that Gene really is in love with him.  Sure, they’re engaged in some animalistic ritual, but the look is all pure adoration. 

Gene sometimes gasps out some words, and often he says, “Oh, Dorothy,” like it’s an expletive.  Sometimes it’s, “Oh Dorothy, I want to fuck you,” or “Take my cock, Dorothy.”  This has never made Sam feel insecure because there comes the time when Gene can’t go on, when the intensity has reached it’s peak, and he rocks into Sam and closes his eyes at last and the name he gasps or yells or groans at that point is always “Sam!”.

Sam is cynical, but with that kind of love and absolute bloody gorgeous sex he cannot help but yield and stare back with adoration of his own, and when Gene works his cock with both hands Sam says, “Oh fuckin’ hell Gene,” and comes, and laughs as they sprawl together in the afternoon light.

 

 


End file.
